Now I will be the talk of the servant’s hall tonight!He walked to the window and stared out at the all too familiar view of the gardens.I am sure Fitzwilliam Darcy’s servants would have often imagined his behavior as something peculiar. But William Fitzroy is a much different character, and I must guard my words before someone becomes suspicious.
Day 10
The knock at the study door garnered Darcy’s attention as he put his correspondence aside. He had slept well, rising at his usual early hour, and he was grateful he had sent Briggs to the Fitzroy townhouse the previous day for his own clothes. He had headed down the stairs tohisstudy, where he was preparing letters for his business in London.
To see Briggs and not have him know me was odd. But he is still the same meticulous, trusted servant in this life as in the last.
“Come,” he said as the door swung open, and Mrs. Reynolds entered.
“Mr. Fitzroy. If you have a moment, sir?” It was evident she was attempting to maintain her composure, and he had felt his own emotions stir.
“Of course,” he said, setting his letters to the side of the desk, which had carried the weight of the Darcy’s business dealings forthree generations.
“Thank you, sir. I would like to first apologize again for calling you ‘Mr. Darcy’. I cannot explain what came over me.”
“Please,” he said, indicating the chair in front of him.
“And, I’d like to go over the menu with you for the upcoming week to ensure your approval.” She listed Cook’s suggestions and jotted notes of his requests.
“Also, Reynolds,” he said, lately realizing his familiarity, “I mean to have guests for dinner this week and will apprise you of the particulars when I receive their reply.”
“As you wish, Mr. Fitzroy.” She made to stand, then stopped. “If I may? Might I offer my condolences on the passing of your father? We at Pemberley were all saddened to hear the news. He was a good friend to our master.”
“You remember my father?”
“Yes. Mr. Herbert Fitzroy was a good friend to Mr. Darcy. I recall your visit as a boy. You fell out of the tree one night when the Darcys and Fitzroys were at Lord Malvern’s for dinner. Mrs. Rogers gave you extra apple bread to calm you until the doctor came.”
“You remember that?” His mouth went slack as he attempted to make sense of what she had said.
“It was my job for many years to know all the comings and goings of Pemberley, sir.Nothingwas beneath mynotice.” She looked at him pointedly before bobbing a curtsey, and she walked out the room, leaving Darcy with a sense of unease.
“Mr. Fitzroy, Mr. Bainbridge will see you now.”
Darcy’s appointment at Bainbridge & Sons had been a top priority for his journey. He followed the clerk down the hall and into an office he had frequented.
Jerome Bainbridge was the third generation of his family to handle the Darcy wealth. Therefore, he was most likely to have knowledge of theMerino accountGeorge Darcy had established after his days at Cambridge. However, accessing that account was something Fitzwilliam Darcy had never contemplated in either lifetime, and he was uncertain of his impending success or failure.
“How are you today, Mr. Fitzroy? We were all quite concerned at the news of your accident when your man Clarence contacted us.”
My man?“Thank you. I am well. I was merely required to rest for a few days. I have come on a matter of some importance, but also one of which I am uncertain how to proceed.”
Mr. Bainbridge straightened the papers on his desk. “How may I be of service, sir?” The little man pushed his spectacles up on his nose and leaned back in his chair.
Darcy took a breath, uncertain where to begin. “I have come about the Merino account, which was opened by George Darcy over thirty years ago.”
“The Merino account?” Mr. Bainbridge gasped, knocking over his chair as he stood. “Please forgive me,” he said, retrieving the furniture and setting it to rights. He sat again and attempted to slow his shaky speech. “No one haseverasked about the Merino account, opened by Mr. Darcy, in all our years of business. How did you know?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
“Of course. Forgive me. If you wait here, I will begin the authentication process.”
“Authentication? I am unaware of what I am to do?”
“As it should be”—and Mr. Bainbridge quickly scribbled off a note before leaving the room. His voice could be heard through the door. “Martin, have this delivered at once, and wait for a reply.” Upon his return moments later, he stood behind his chair. “Shall we meet again this evening at six o’clock?”
“I will be available.”
“Good. If the person I have contacted is unavailable, how shall I reach you, sir?”
